


Wolf-Knight and the Dead Sea

by Aicnerys



Series: Warp, Mend, Warp, Repeat [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 19:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aicnerys/pseuds/Aicnerys
Summary: After the War of Wrath, Mairon reflects on how he got where he was. Eonwe offers pardon. Mairon rejects.(A short poem and a short ficlet. One does not have to read one to get the other!)





	1. Poem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to try poetry. I like poetry, but I usually tend to avoid it in fic. However, I felt an urge to do so, so I did.

By the dead sea

That of salt and tears

Of scalding water

Of boiling flame

Of eternal ice

Under the mountains of black fire and hoarfrost

The wolf-knight stands arrayed in shed spikes

Cradling his helm, blade broken and cast aside

Hail to thee oh vassal of the Dark Lord!

Hail to thee oh most Admirable!

Nothing of that which you cherished remains!

 

The sigh of the west wind is cursed

The shine of the sun hated

The light of the moon scorned

The shimmer of the stars despised

The arrogance and confidence has been peeled off

And only grief and lamentation are left

That herald which you beg is then scorned

Hail to thee oh vassal of the Dark Lord!

Hail to thee oh most Cruel!

Nothing of that which you cherished remains!

 

And when that herald is scorned by your wrath

And when the west wind no longer sighs

There you are, oh wolf knight, arrayed in char and sparks

There are you in your blackened glory

There are you in your loss and devastation

Too late were words of love traded

And too late were words of apology given

Hail to thee oh vassal of the Dark Lord!

Hail to thee oh most Abhorred!

Nothing of that which you cherished remains!

  



	2. Prose

There was nothing left of Angband after the War of Wrath. Simply Mairon, the handful of remaining orcs, and the slowly-dying icy sea that Melkor had first won Mairon with. Ages ago, the ugly, clear blue churn of ice and water with faint sparks within had been a roaring masterpiece of flame and fury and wild waves, of lava mixed seamlessly into salt water.

 

But with Melkor’s defeat, the Dead Sea he had made was being slowly reclaimed by Ulmo. Even when Melkor had been imprisoned in the halls of Mandos, there wasn’t such a loss of the Dead Sea as now. Mairon held his helm in hand. The battle had ended years ago, but he had floated restlessly around the sea, around the ruins of Angband and Utumno. The surviving orcs hailed him as their leader because that was what he had always been, but he, for the most part, let them be.

 

Mairon had eyes only for the Dead Sea, that last remnant of his lord’s ability to create.

 

He had been wooed by its utter imperfection, because in his eyes it was the flaws of something that made it beautiful. And though he wanted Arda to run more perfectly, more beautifully, that didn’t mean he wanted it to all be perfection. He wanted to mar it so that it fit better, the broken edges molding into each other to make a single, composite whole, more beautiful and perfect because of the flaws, not in spite of them. He wished to see an Arda Marred because when one has achieved perfection, what else is there to do?

 

Melkor had given him that thing to fix because Melkor was always shoving out ideas, and those ideas had needed another set of critical eyes. When those at Valinor had first heard of their growing relations, in those early, early times, they had thought it was Melkor marring Mairon’s perfection when in actually, it was Melkor giving Mairon more to work on, more to think of, new ways to think of it.

 

And when his work had improved through his collaboration with Melkor, the other Ainur had begun to call him Gorthaur, the Cruel, even though Mairon was simply creating with more broken, raw things. He saw beauty in it, catharsis in it.

 

The other Ainur had seen only a so-called evil, as if evil was something that could ever be concretely defined anyway.

 

~~~

 

There was the west wind. Mairon laughed bitterly. The west wind, and now, Eonwe. Mairon turned to his fellow Maia with contempt in his face, a maniacal laugh bubbling out from within him as he beheld Eonwe in all his might and glory when Mairon was a shadow, a defeated, forgotten thing.

 

“Sauron.” Eonwe called, standing a fair distance away from Mairon. Mairon pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes in a vain attempt not to cry, discarding his helm, the only part of his armor he had yet held onto.

 

“Sauron, what is wrong?” Eonwe asked, in mockery of kindness, maybe actual kindness if Mairon wished to believe in a lie of pardon.

 

“What is wrong?” He demanded, voice breaking, head tilted up as he let his arms drop to his sides and his hands curl into fists. “What is wrong? How dare you have the audacity to ask me that!”

 

“Sauron, I only wish to help you.” Eonwe said placatingly, earnestly. “Without the shadow of Melkor looming over you, you could do good! Mairon still exists, I know it. You can still turn away from the darkness.”

 

Mairon laughed bitterly, his nails digging into his palms and breaking skin.

 

“You fucking moron, Eonwe.” Mairon seethed, affixing Eonwe with the full weight of his deadened stare. “Do you not understand how many times I could have left? I had threatened to do so before! And yet, you think that I, with all my knowledge, all my cunning, could not have left?

 

“I stayed, Eonwe, because I loved him! And although the start of that relationship was as sensible and good as my lord himself, we made it work! We were making it work! But then this War of Wrath happened, and now…”

 

“I am sorry, Sauron.” Eonwe said mournfully. “But there are others for you to love.” Mairon sneered at that.

 

“We were planning to retire from being dark lords, Eonwe. If I had only more time, I could have helped him master the madness that those damned Silmarils sparked!” Mairon cried. “We were so close to leaving, to letting Angband fall apart! We were going to let the orcs develop a culture beyond mindless destruction! Gothmog and Thuringwethil were to take the form of Eldar and simply disappear!

 

“We were so close to leaving as this bullshit about good versus evil behind, only for it to be ruined.”

 

“I know it must be difficult for you, Sauron, but if you return to Valinor, you could have that. I’m sure that the Valar would be willing to spare you if I vouched for your contrition.” Eonwe offered. Yet Mairon simply laughed, and dismissed him with the flick of a hand.

 

“I’ve no desire to speak with you, Eonwe.” Mairon said simply. Eonwe sighed, and vanished into the western winds, which soon died down. A cat headbutted his leg, causing Mairon to look down to see Vaswe, in his cat-shape.

 

“Vaswe wishes to tell you that ze will return to Valinor.” Vaswe said solemnly. “Vaswe liked the lieutenant and the lord very much, and ze is filled with sorrow at the thought of returning. Vaswe likes chaos, and Vaswe also likes destruction, but Vaswe also likes self-preservation.” Mairon nodded. Vaswe was Vaswe, and ultimately, ze would do as ze willed. Mairon had always known that while he liked the other Maia’s company, he couldn’t count on it forever.

 

“I understand. It is in your nature, afterall.” Mairon told Vaswe, with neither wrath nor rancor in him. “I will miss you.”

 

“And Vaswe, you.” Vaswe responded, turning and brushing his fluffy tail over Mairon’s legs one last time. With that, he slipped into the Vaswe dimension, and left Mairon alone, staring at the once-Dead Sea.

 

And then Mairon, greatest of Melkor’s servants, was alone.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you just want to retire...

**Author's Note:**

> Major character death as a warning because basically, Melkor is dead. Just because he's beyond the Void and technically still alive doesn't mean that it isn't treated that way. ;-;


End file.
